Tatiana's Diary

Spring

2007-03-13T01:07:00.000-07:00

Spring is creeping in a stop start way into the Southern Uplands. The snowdrops are out, and the daffodils are nearly out. Most of the local famers have given up keeping any sheep or cattle. Everyone is waiting for the windfarm decision. To pass the time, I have planted some bulbs. Travel to and from this part of Scotland was disrupted for several weeks by a rail crash near Oxenholme in the Lake District, but the service was restored yesterday. this is good, because I am going to London to investigate the Country Living show at the Islington Design Centre. Country Living in Russia is simple and short. I suspect that Country Living in Britain will be more like the home life of Liz Hurley in the Cotswolds. If you and Natasha aspire to status in your country mansion there must be an Aga and perhaps some labrador dogs. More later in the week. Yours Tatiana

2007-03-13T01:02:00.000-07:00

Tatiana’s Diary November 2006

Dear Olly

I am just back from leave in Moscow where as you know my mother was taken ill. Conditions in Moscow hospitals are unspeakable, but luckily she is home now and my sister has found a nice young woman from one of the former republics to live with her and help her. This has freed me to return to the UK. I may need to take a well-earned break from my research - see you in the spring!

Despatch Fifteen

2006-10-20T16:04:00.000-07:00

The Veil. There is a useful English general principle governing behaviour such as the wearing of the veil by Muslim women. The principle is: 'So long as they do not do it in the street and frighten the horses'. This covers the case, both literally and metaphorically, I think.

Despatch Fourteen

2006-10-19T08:27:00.000-07:00

Despatch Thirteen

2006-10-18T21:24:00.000-07:00

Despatch Twelve

2006-10-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

Despatch Eleven

2006-10-15T16:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Tatiana - Queries from the crew of Letgo Answered

2006-10-14T09:28:00.000-07:00

Tatiana is thrown back on her own resources.

2006-10-13T06:05:00.000-07:00

Despatch Eight

2006-10-10T19:54:00.001-07:00

The story so far:
Tatiana is employed by a Oleg, a Russian oligarch exiled at sea on his yacht the Flying Dutchman (Letushchy Golandets, Letgo for short). Her job is to brief him on all aspects of British life pending his arrival in London. Oleg and his wife Natalya (Natasha) have a son Nicholas (Kolya)who is down for Eton. Tatiana has a bodyguard Alexander (Sasha) with whom she recently had to flee to a safe house in a remote part of Scotland. Due to difficulties with the bank, which has frozen Oleg’s account, Tatiana has had to let the basement of her house in London and Sasha has got a job as a roadie until Christmas with a touring theatre company...

Tues Oct 10

Back in London, to the merry sound of angle grinder on stone: three neighbouring houses are being done up by Poles and Ukrainians. Sasha keeps a low profile for obvious historical reasons, finding himself - a lone former Russian soldier - in the wrong place at the wrong time amidst such a welter of former client statespersons. The Indian summer continues; the quinces are golden, some now even rotting, on the tree overhanging the garden. You asked me for more chapter and verse regarding my stay in Cheltenham. Well, Olly, I did not spend your money on spa treatments or gambling. I have the ticket stubs (enclosed) to prove that I attended no less than seven events. I did not wish to bore you with great detail, but since you ask I will give you a short account of each. The first I chose on the Friday afternoon (there are several events to chose from at every hour of the day for a fortnight) was Juliet Nicolson. Ms Nicolson is the scion of an artistic family, her grandparents being Harold Nicolson and Virginia Woolf, and her father a notable painter Ben. The theme of her book is social conditions in England seen through the experiences of various representatives from different walks of life from May to October 1911. Ms Nicolson was charming but nervous - it is her first book. She was wearing a very pretty patterned dress with a fashionable ‘handkerchief’ hem, layered over a camisole and with a cardigan, all in shades of sludge or putty. My only criticism of her outfit is her tights, which were also a khaki colour and to my mind …but I digress. The following day, Saturday, I started with Gavin Stamp a more experienced orator who gave a lively account of the war memorials on the Western Front of the Great War 1914-18. Mr Stamp is an architect, and on this showing could go on a short list for your proposed mansion in that land you have in Scotland. Incidentally, I understand from the taxi driver who took us to our hotel that Cheltenham was largely built by senior army officers from India who retired there in the past century. Then came Lady Antonia Fraser, who was introduced as ‘uniquely well equipped’ to describe the characters and careers of the mistresses of Louis XIV of France. For some reason the audience found that remark very amusing and laughed knowingly as did Lady Fraser herself, who is a large blonde person. She may have been married at one time to Harold Nicolson, because she explained that when she decided to ditch a previous book project on the history of Ireland, she said to her husband: ‘Harold, I’ve binned the Boyne’. After that, I went to hear a young Conservative MP called Michael Gove speak about the threat from militant Islam. A former Foreign Minister of Britain, Jack Straw, has recently provoked a public debate on the wearing by Muslim women of the veil. Mr Gove comes from the sinister wing of the Conservative Party, in the tradition of another Michael, the former leader of the party, M. Howard. Then I attended an illustrated talk by two ladies on the sculptor Rodin, the subject of a retrospective exhibition at the Royal Academy while Sasha sat in on his former colleague’s presentation on conditions in Afghan prisons. On Sunday morning early I attended a talk by the former head of the British home security service, which is like our Border Police, OGPU and the NKVD. You may wish to short list this lady, Stella Rimington, to run your own protection squad when you come ashore. Lastly there was a comedy double act called Jenkins and Benn, bantering about political philosophy. Simon Jenkins is a Marxist and T. Benn is a Leveller. I am off to Knightsbridge now to show my identity card to the bank.

The copyright and all other rights in this blog and the characters featured in it belong to Tatiana Larin-Gremin, and they may not be copied, adapted or otherwise used without her agreement.

Despatch Seven

2006-10-10T01:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Olly,

On Friday, Sasha suddenly insisted on going to Cheltenham, a spa town in the southwest of England. He had a call from an old Russian army colleague who was to appear at the annual Literary Festival there. It seems that his friend had written a book about being a prisoner of the Taliban in Afghanistan, now translated into English. I decided to accompany him on the cross country train from Carlisle, to take advantage of the opportunity to study the event and the people. When we arrived at the Town Hall for the talk on Saturday, I noticed a tall distinguished looking Englishman in the queue for coffee. He was wearing pink cord trousers and a bright yellow v-neck jersey or ‘jumper’ with a multi-coloured striped shirt. This is the kind of thing that will help you melt into the background on occasions such as an invitation to go shooting. In the Writers’ Room after the talk, our escort – a volunteer from the neighbourhood who helps to run the festival – pointed out various celebrities from the media: a James Naughtie ,a Jeremy Paxman, Daniel Finkelstein (no relation, he told me, to Leonid who works for Bush House), Robert Thomas the editor of the Times, Libby Purves a broadcaster and Julia Eccleshare a specialist in children’s books. Julia was in Moscow with an exhibition of books from England when I had that part time job at the Library for Foreign Literature (VGBIL) some years ago. Luckily, she did not see me so I did not have to break my cover or introduce Sasha who had taken full advantage of the free wine on offer. I went back to my room for an early night but Sasha found some Serbs working in the kitchen in our hotel and disappeared until Sunday afternoon when it was time for us to take the train to London. We assume the affair of the apples (see my earlier despatch) has now blown over.

The copyright and all other rights in this blog and the characters featured in it belong to Tatiana Larin-Gremin, and they may not be copied, adapted or otherwise used without her agreement.

Despatch Six

2006-10-01T02:23:00.000-07:00

Despatch Five

2006-09-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Olly

From Her Safe House in Scotland

Dear Olly, Well, I can report a great success. Sasha bagged one of the wild sheep which roam these hills, and a tasty red squirrel! So we will not starve. It is much wetter and cooler up here compared to London. We are on more or less the same line of latitude as Kolomna. The great new buzz up here concerns windfarms and renewable energy. The Scots have long begrudged the exploitation in the last century of their North Sea gas and oil fields by British companies. Now there is talk of making Scotland into the Saudi Arabia of the northern hemisphere. Most of the wind in Europe is found up here, apparently. Would you like me to make further inquiries? Mmm That squirrel smells delicious. Sasha is grilling it over the fire.

The copyright and all other rights in this blog and the characters featured in it belong to Tatiana Larin-Gremin, and they may not be copied, adapted or otherwise used without her agreement.

Despatch Four

2006-09-26T07:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Olly, Thank you so much for sending the apples from your estate in Tula, or was it Kolomna?. They are much tastier than the ones sold in the supermarkets here. I cut one up immediately and floated a piece in my tea, the way Uncle Vanya used to, sitting in the garden at his dacha during those golden autumn afternoons. The English put milk in their tea which spoils the flavour in my view. There is a difference of opinion about whether to put the milk in first or last. There is some social significance in this preference. I will elaborate when I have had time to study this phenomenon more closely. Did you know that the English (or British as G. Brown prefers to call them) are all descended from a Spanish tribe? This is according to a recent analysis of their DNA. It explains why, alone in the world, the Spanish and the English have a ‘th’ sound in their language. Tho there.

Dear Oleg Ivanovich

How was I to know that there was something concealed in one of the apples? When your man called to collect it, whatever it was, it turned out to have been in the very one I had cut up and put in my tea. I thought that little black spot was a maggot egg.

Yours sincerely,

Tatiana Larin-Gremin

Olya! Olyusha! What do you mean, it wasn’t your man? I must say, I did think he was a bit rude, barging past me in the entrance hall and throwing all the apples out of the bowl and bashing them to bits with a hammer.

Dear Ol, I do not want to sound ungrateful, but I must stress that when I agreed to be your eyes and ears in London, I had no intention of getting mixed up in your business affairs, other than briefing you on the English and keeping a lookout for investment opportunities. Thank you, anyway, for your man Sasha, who got here shortly after the False Dimitri. He has now taken up residence in the basement. Must I cancel my visit to Scotland, or can I take him with me?

A Safe House in Scotland

Well, this is rather like being at home. We are in a dacha surrounded by conifers. Sasha has pitched his tent somewhere in the forest, and is going to try and shoot something for supper with his AK49. He says we are to lie low here for a few days until the apple affair (code named Snow White) has been sorted out in London. Please remember the house is rented and we will have to pay for any damage eg bloodstains or broken furniture.

The copyright and all other rights in this blog and the characters featured in it belong to Tatiana Larin-Gremin, and they may not be copied, adapted or otherwise used without her agreement.

Despatch Three

2006-09-26T04:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Olly

Sundays in this part of London are quiet, except for a noisy collection of bottles from the many nearby nightclubs and restaurants at 3.0am. If you and Natasha decide to have a place in London, I suggest you buy up one of the garden squares (you could get one for about $300 million) –there is plenty of room for staff in the houses down each side, and you could knock down the row along the far end, away from the main road, for a mansion, perhaps in the style of J. Nash or F. B. Rastrelli. And ban the refuse collection. The fashionable Kings Road itself was originally a private road, built by Prince Charles’s (q.v. – the biscuit maker) forebear and namesake, King Charles II. London roads are very narrow compared to ours. (No doubt the sea air is making your brain seethe and I know I am only one of your correspondents around the world so forgive me if my notes are necessarily parochial.) Do you have any books in English on board apart from Fr. Mitrofan’s Complete Works of P.G. Wodehouse I wonder? Let me know if you would like me to compile a list of contemporary English literature. Meanwhile, for your edification I recommend the new English movie The Queen, starring H. Mirren directed by S. Frears. There is a very good topical joke in an otherwise quite serious story set in 1997, at the time of the death of Princess Diana Spencer (q.v. - M&S). At a busy moment, one of Prime Minister Tony Blair’s aides answers a telephone and says ‘It’s Gordon’ to which T. Blair replies ‘Tell him to hang on’. The audience appreciates this very much, since Gordon (Brown) has been waiting for some years to take over from Blair as Prime Minister. These things are arranged differently chez nous, n’est ce pas? I have often wondered what it is they put in the Kremlin water when it is time for a change. It might be worth finding out and getting the formula to G. Brown. He would be grateful, and might appoint you to the House of Lords. Dear Olly, I see that life expectancy for Russian males is 58. Please be careful and do not go too near the rail. More soon – tomorrow I will be continuing my researches in Scotland.

Yours truly,

Tanya

The copyright and all other rights in this blog and the characters featured in it belong to Tatiana Larin-Gremin, and they may not be copied, adapted or otherwise used without her agreement.

Despatch Two

2006-09-26T03:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Olly, The Prince Charles I mentioned in my last despatch is the heir to the English throne (or, as the English would say, the British throne). He is the Prince of Wales, that part of England to the far west not the sea mammal. He makes biscuits on his farm in Gloucestershire. Perhaps he is unhinged with grief at the death of his first wife. But he has recently remarried a cheerful looking person, his former housekeeper, who wore a very Russian style headdress at their wedding, a sheaf of corn. He is a devout Orthodox and often visits Mount Athos on the quiet so Fr Mitrofan may have heard his confession before you whisked him off on your little sabbatical. I have been looking round the place for safe investments, and wonder whether you would consider buying a body known as the Forestry Commission ? This organisation owns most of the timber in Britain. My personal trainer says that Gordon Brown will be putting it up for sale when he succeeds Tony Blair. The record of a ship’s movements and activities is called the log, by the way. My English teacher and I did a whole lesson on wood and wood-related expressions. On board ship, one may use ‘Shiver me timbers’ as an ejaculation. You will need to get to grips with the national characteristics of the various peoples inhabiting these islands before you start negotiating here. The Scots have what is known as a chip on their shoulder. A chip is a small piece of wood. The Welsh are very devious, and sometimes speak a different language altogether from other English people. We will leave the Irish alone for the time being, because they are too complicated. Mr Patel in the corner shop knows a lot about all these matters because he has been selling newspapers for 40 years. It might be worth putting him on the strength – this is a new idiom I learned from the ‘Employment and Office Practice’ chapter of my book English for Business. It means putting him on the payroll. In the last century, this move would have been part of something called the Great Game, if Mr Patel had been from India whereas in fact he came here from East Africa. On church matters, I am afraid to say that the schism in the Russian Orthodox Cathedral in London remains unbridged. There is a standoff between those who wish to shelter under the wing of the Moscow Patriarch and those (many of them English) who seek the protection of the Ecumenical Patriarch in Constantinople. You are better off circling the globe with Fr Mitrofan, celebrating the liturgy in deep waters. By the way, I have received a pre-printed postcard from the Provost of Eton. It thanks you for your letter and in ink is added underneath ‘How much?’. So there you are ! ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained’ as the chapter on Commerce says! Would you still like me to sound out Harrow in case the price for Eton is unreasonable?

Yours aye (Scottish way of signing off)

Tatiana L-G

The copyright and all other rights in this blog and the characters featured in it belong to Tatiana Larin-Gremin, and they may not be copied, adapted or otherwise used without her agreement.

Despatch One

2006-09-26T03:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Olly - Tatiana’s despatches.

Olly, a Russian oligarch, has sent Tatiana to London for a year to live discreetly undercover, in order to collect information which will enable her to coach him in English and English manners before he returns to take his rightful place in society. Tatiana is also on the lookout for investments to soak up her employer’s unceasing Niagara-like cascade of cash. Tatiana’s employer, meanwhile, is circling the globe in one of his enormous private yachts; at present he is aboard the Letushchy Golandets, Let Go for short (in English, the Flying Dutchman).

Despatch One: Dear Olly, London is basking in an Indian summer, just like we have in Moscow. I hope the weather is pleasant where you are. The place you found me to stay in London is excellent. There are English people of all ages living here, including one member of the House of Lords which may come in handy for you when you feel ready to come ashore. As instructed, I am collecting idioms and slang which you can learn while you are sitting in your banya. I have found a good honest woman to give me English language lessons one to one. There is a neat English idiom for moving house, which is apt for you in the circumstances. If you were in London now, you could apparently turn to your neighbour at dinner or at your club and say: ‘I’ve had to up sticks’. Sticks can also mean furniture. A propos: a nouveau riche can be described as ‘a man who has to buy his own furniture’. In your case, a man who buys up furniture factories more like. An elderly person can also be called ‘an old stick’. Talking of old sticks, try running some of these past Father Mitrofan, who I know is familiar with the works of P.G. Wodehouse, when you next go to confession. I hope his seasickness has improved because I know how much you and Natasha depend on him for your devotions. By the way, there are pre-schism English saints which you can venerate quite safely when you come to London. I have this on authority. They are manifold, and include St Alban (who was actually a Roman), St Dunstan, patron saint of the blind and St Clement who is aptly depicted with an anchor. If you like, I can inquire about commissioning an icon artist to make you a set, like Prince Charles has in his chapel at his country estate. The local shops and restaurants are not run by English people, by the way. The Poles are everywhere, and as rude as ever. They are not nature’s restaurateurs, unlike the Italians. I have also engaged a cook who has undertaken to teach me how to cook English dishes, such as Shepherd’s Pie, made with minced meat and potatoes, and something called Baby’s Leg, a seasonal dessert delicacy made from jam and a pastry made from the fat from a cow’s stomach lining. This is apparently enjoyed at exclusive English private schools, so will be handy for little Kolya if your plan to buy Eton college comes to fruition. I have not heard back yet from the Head Master to whom I wrote with your offer. Shall I try Harrow instead? I must run – quite literally, in fact, because my personal trainer has arrived. She trains many English women of a certain age in many walks of life, so I am confident that the investment in her time will be well repaid. By the way, there is a shop in this street called Marx and Spencer, named playfully I presume after the father of the Bolshevik Revolution and the late Princess of Wales – an amusing contraposition that the English enjoy in their pub names as well (the Ferret and Trouser Leg, the Slug and Lettuce etc).

Yours truly

Tatiana Larin-Gremin

Ps My trainer says the Head master of Eton is called the Provost. Your money is not being wasted!

The copyright and all other rights in this blog and the characters featured in it belong to Tatiana Larin-Gremin, and they may not be copied, adapted or otherwise used without her agreement.